


Vice

by cardcaptorufus



Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Freeform, M/M, tsengru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:36:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27037312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardcaptorufus/pseuds/cardcaptorufus
Summary: Rufus is sick of seeing Lazard in the VP’s chair, so he decides to take what’s rightfully his.
Relationships: Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Kudos: 19





	Vice

**Author's Note:**

> I reccomend turning "reader view" on on your device because google docs to rich text is fucked

Tseng presses a leather-clad index finger to the buzzer outside of Director Deusericus’s office. After a few moments and no response, he presses it again, holding the button a bit longer than before. Tseng glances over at Rufus, who looks queasy— a stark contrast from his indifferent attitude earlier. 

_I don’t give a shit about that bastard._

That was Rufus’s response upon Tseng telling him he was meeting with the SOLDIER Director before they snuck away for lunch. Tseng had tried to be considerate of the animosity between siblings by offering for Rufus to hang out in his office— as he usually spent his days— until he met with Lazard that afternoon. 

However, in his arrogance, Rufus saw it as hiding— as backing down from a challenge— and had only been insulted by Tseng’s genuinely considerate gesture to keep the peace. Could Tseng ever recall a time where Rufus hadn’t turned a wise word of caution into a pissing contest?

“Come in,” 

The deadpan response crackles through the PA system. The mere sound of the SOLDIER director’s voice makes Rufus visibly tense up with hatred, like a cat that just had its fur brushed the wrong way. Tseng wishes he would’ve locked Rufus up in his office again and just been done with it. He imagines Rufus kicking and screaming against the door while Reno holds it shut. It wouldn’t be his problem. 

Or, even easier, Tseng could’ve just lied to Rufus about his errand— despite Rufus’s insistence that Tseng always tell him if he was going to see Lazard. In other words, Rufus Shinra had never once made an attempt to conceal his envy during his 21 years on Gaia, so anytime Tseng interacted with Lazard, Rufus went ballistic. 

“I have a visitor with me today,” Tseng announces, ringing the PA button again.

There’s a long pause from behind the door. “... Well, who is it, then?”

Tseng smirks, then quips something he immediately regrets upon seeing the reaction it elicits from Rufus. 

“I’m babysitting today.”

Lazard chuckles into the mic, “Very well. Come in.”

There’s the click of the lock unlatching, but before Tseng can turn his wrist to open the door, Rufus’s hand clenches onto Tseng’s in a death grip. A threatening gaze from the blonde makes him pause.

“I’m _not_ going in there, and _fuck_ you.”

“Are you serious? It was a joke,” Tseng places his hand on the small of Rufus’s back and nudges him forwards towards the door as he turns the handle. “Stop whining.” 

When Rufus attempts to wriggle away from him, Tseng grabs him by the elbow and shoves him through the threshold of the office door, forcing him to straighten up. Tseng knows he’s already sleeping on the couch tonight, so he pushes his luck.

“Hello, gentlemen,”

The director’s voice is smooth as always, his platinum locks framing his angular jaw. He swivels his chair— it squeaks, breaking the silence— to get a better look at them, purposefully looking Rufus up and down in smug disapproval. 

Rufus surprisingly holds a poker face, but Tseng knows his blood is boiling. For a split second he imagines Rufus hurdling over Lazard’s desk and throttling him right then and there, and he almost cracks a smile. 

Tseng and Deusericus chat for a moment— something about the weather and emails Rufus can’t quite make out because his head is spinning. He’s focused on one thing alone, and that’s giving Lazard the nastiness glare he can muster to tell him how much he hates him without using his snake tongue to do it. 

“Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Tseng?”

Rufus clears his throat, making his presence clear as well, before Tseng can respond.

“Just dropping off these reports for your review.” 

Tseng sets the files on Lazard’s desktop, and slides them forwards, fingers splayed on the documents in his immaculate handwriting. Just as he's about to pull his hand away, Lazard’s fingers brush against Tseng’s on top of the stack of files. 

Rufus gasps aloud, watching the exchange intently. 

“Excuse me,” Lazard purrs and shuffles the files. He glances at Rufus out of the corner of his eye, whose face is burning a darker shade of crimson. The director drums his fingers on top of his desk as he eyes Rufus over the top of his silver-rimmed glasses. “...What about you, Ruf? Father says your _business trip_ is going exceptionally well.”

“None of your business,” he answers cooly. Rufus pulls a carton of Marlboro Reds out of his jacket pocket along with his lighter: a nervous vice. 

“Oh, we don’t allow smoking in here,” Lazard chides and shakes his head.

Rufus lowers his gaze and glares at Lazard behind his shaggy blonde bangs in defiance as he lights the cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

Tseng quickly pipes up to remedy the situation, “My apologies, director-”

“Ha! And what the hell are you apologizing for?” Rufus sneers at the Turk, a decided feeling of betrayal brewing in his gut.

Lazard smiles, “It’s alright Mr. Tseng-”

“I did _not_ give you permission to apologize for me.”

Tseng’s eyes opened wide at Rufus’s outburst, as he cast a nervous glance at Lazard, “Director-”

“Tseng,” Lazard Rolled his eyes before lowering them at Rufus, “kids will be kids.”

Rufus doesn’t miss a beat. “Bastards will be bastards.”

“That’s a strong statement for someone who hasn’t worked a day in his life.”

“That’s a becoming position for the son of a whore.”

“We have the same father, you know.” 

Rufus lurches forwards, and Tseng yanks him backwards by the forearms. 

“Are you jealous, Rufus?”

“It’s not jealousy if it already belongs to me!” Rufus writhes under Tseng’s grip, ready to tear into him.

“Why,” Lazard chuckles and folds his hands neatly on his desk, “do you expect father to hand it to you?”

“Nope, rather rip it out of yours.”

Lazard is unimpressed by Rufus’s rash threats and purses his lips at Tseng. “You won’t get very far. You don’t rise in this company with petty crime. It takes eloquence.”

Tseng gives Rufus a good shake, and he takes a deep breath to calm himself down. “That is the old way, isn’t it?” Rufus straightens his cravat. “You’re no different from the old man, I see.”

“I find it funny you’re so intent on labelling me as a slum rat, when all you’ve done is turn the Turks into a mob. Veld won’t stand for you reducing his department to a group of thugs, and I’ll see to it.”

“You won’t do a damn thing.” Rufus tosses his cigarette on the floor, and stomps it out. 

“Tseng, I’m bored, we're leaving.”

“Tseng, you won't stand for it either, will you?”

Rufus doesn’t look back, but he knows Tseng hesitates when he hears a hitch in his footsteps, a pause in between the clicks of his dress shoes on the steel floor. 

“He’ll run the Turks into the ground. Mark my words.”

Rufus snaps his fingers without a backwards glance. “Tseng, come.”

Tseng bows politely to Lazard, who watches them out in disgust, and follows Rufus out into the staff elevator. 

When the door closes on them inside, Tseng grabs Rufus by the shoulders and pushes him against the glass. 

“Don’t you ever snap your fingers at me again.”

“Don’t _you_ ever say you’re babysitting me again. Do you hear me?”

“...Yes, I am sorry.”

“I hope you are.”

Rufus panics and hits a button on the elevator panel one floor lower than the highlighted number overhead, trying to stop the car as quickly as possible. It halts with a ding, and Rufus sprints out before Tseng can catch him. 

“Sir! Stop-” 

Tseng rushes after him as Rufus disappears into the crowd of ShinRa office employees milling around the hall. Tseng almost loses him until he sees the tail of Rufus’s long white jacket slip into the bathroom. 

Tseng follows him, and is met with a stall door slamming in his face. Tseng looks threateningly at a man finishing his business in the urinal, who takes the hint. He rushes out zipping his fly, and Tseng and Rufus are alone. 

“Ruf, open up.” Tseng taps gently on the door. “Please?”

“Fuck off.”

Tseng sighs and walks away from the stall. He walks over to the entry door to the bathroom and opens it, but he doesn’t leave after closing it shut. 

Sure enough— after a few moments of Rufus thinking that he’s alone— Tseng hears sniffling. 

“I’m so sorry.”

Rufus gasps at the sound of his voice. “No… you humiliated me on purpose!”

“I took the joke too far, I’m apologizing.”

“Leave me alone… Go talk to Lazard, you like him so much better than me.”

Rufus sees Tseng’s black shoes appear ominously under the stall door. 

“Rufus, open the damn door.”

“No!” Rufus spits the words, “Go to him, don’t settle for me!”

“Open the damn door, or I’m kicking it down!”

Rufus inhales sharply. 

“I saw the way you touched his hand, you have feelings for him.”

“1… 2...”

“Why don’t you just shoot me and be done with it!”

Tseng slams his fist against the door before swinging open the adjacent stall and climbing over it into Rufus’s. 

Rufus cowers in the opposite corner of the stall with his fists balled at his waist, crying on the verge of hysterics. 

“I hate him too,” Tseng confesses solemnly. “It’s all an act.”

“Liar!”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to you that’ll make you happy.” Tseng sighs and flips open the lock on the stall. 

“It _is_ all an act, then,” Rufus says quietly, “Empty words.”

“I’m not fighting with you.” Tseng kicks the door open. “I’ll be in my office.”

With nowhere else to go, Rufus follows Tseng after taking a few deep breaths. Tseng hasn’t left yet, he’s waiting for Rufus right outside, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. 

Just as Rufus steps out into the hallway, his phone rings. He flips it open and turns a paler shade of white. The number isn’t saved under a name, but he knows it by heart. 

“Answer it,” Tseng panics. 

“It seems we have a snitch.” 

Rufus presses the green answer key on his phone and is immediately met with an earful of curses from his father. 

xxxxx

“How much does he know?” Tseng asks Rufus. They’re in the guest suite Rufus’s father ordered him to be holed up in for the time being. Tseng muses it’s the fanciest prison cell he’s ever seen. 

“As far as we’re concerned, nothing. But that’s not to say I got off scot-free.”

The black eye on Rufus’s face is evidence enough to Tseng without his words. 

His father had beaten him. 

“He’s too preoccuoppied with SOLDIER’s recent fuck-ups to look at the Turks right now.” Rufus grumbles. “Simple-minded fool.”

“We can use the cover then,” Tseng assures him. “Anything else to note?”

“No, not particularly. The old bastard just thinks I’m slacking on the job and nothing else,” Rufus lets out a pained laugh. “I’m letting him think I snuck here for a little vacation from Junon. He's making me stay until the end of the week and monitoring us.” 

“Good,” Tseng sees the pain in Rufus’s eyes and corrects himself quickly, “Sorry, I mean, it’s good, other outcomes considered.”

“Perhaps, but we aren't in the clear yet,” Rufus runs a hand through his thick bangs, “He’s called an emergency meeting for tomorrow morning.” 

“About what?” 

“Not us, SOLDIER. However, he is suspicious of us,” Rufus bites his nails, choosing his words carefully as he tries to imagine his father’s next move. “If we can keep the conversation on the bastard’s fuck-ups, we'll be in the clear.” 

Tseng knows ‘the bastard’ always referred to Lazard; Rufus can't bring himself to say his name. 

“Sounds easy enough. I'd say we have nothing to worry about.” 

“Not for now, but we’ll pause operations while we’re being watched. Who knows how much money we’ll lose while we can’t move product.”

  
  


Rufus stares blankly at the ceiling, still deep in thought. “...Tseng, don’t you think it’s rather brash of Lazard to rat me out, when we also have leverage on his anti- ShinRa operations?”

“Yes, I worry he knows more than we do… If he knows he’s going down I fear he may try to take you with him.”

“The stage is certainly set for tomorrow. You wouldn't let that happen... Or would you, Tseng?”

“Sir?”

“How do I know you're not the one who told my father I was here?”

Rufus’s words crush Tseng like a ton of lead, and he can’t hide the hurt. 

“Ruf,” Tseng whispers. He trails a finger over the lashes left by President Shinra across Rufus’s shoulder blades in horror and his throat tightens. “Do you really think I would do this to you?”

Rufus shakes his head as a tear streams down his face. “... Am I a fool if I say no? Tell me, Tseng, please.”

Tseng knew his question was a double-edged sword. He didn’t hurt Rufus, but he had failed to stop it. 

“I’m loyal to you, Rufus,” Tseng pleads, “I swear it. I swear it on my life.” 

“...Prove it to me then,” Rufus coos. “Prove your loyalty to me.”

Tseng is angry; angry he would ever give Rufus a reason to doubt him. He feels responsible for the sight before him— Rufus crumpled and wounded on the bed in front of him— pitiful and stripped of his pride. Tseng had promised him no matter what that he would protect him, and he had failed. 

Tseng gets on his knees and kneels beside the bed in a position of obedience. He runs his hand up Rufus’s calf to his sock garter and unclips it. 

“I’ll bring you his head on a silver platter, just say the word.”

“You brute,” Rufus sneers, “...Can you or can you not make it look like an accident?”

“You’re asking very little of me... as always.” Tseng slips off Rufus’s dress sock, and massages his foot. 

“Hmph. Am I, Or was he right? Are you just a thug?” Rufus brushes the edge of his foot across Tseng’s cheekbone. 

“No,” Tseng caresses Rufus’s foot in his hands, 

“I will spill blood as exquisitely as you ask me to.” 

He kisses the top of Rufus’s foot in an act of subservience. Rufus moans, and Tseng knows he’s accepting his garish flattery as forgiveness. 

“Good, you’re going to prove to me who you belong to?” Rufus regains the confidence in his voice and the fire in his blue eyes, bruised as they may be. 

Tseng nods in affirmation, dragging his cheek across Rufus’s shin. 

“Tell me… whose whore are you Tseng? Are you one of ShinRa’s dogs, or are you my man?”

“Yours, sir,” Tseng moans into Rufus’s thigh and shoves his legs wide apart. Rufus throws his head back and gasps as Tseng runs his tongue along the length of his milky thighs. 

“Before you do your duty,” Rufus exhales on the verge of losing himself to Tseng’s clever tongue lapping at his groin. “There’s one more thing.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I want to watch,” Rufus begs breathlessly, “I will watch you kill him.”

Tseng licks his lips and pounces on Rufus. He shoves a finger against Rufus’s entrance, roughly teasing him through his boxers. “Your thirst for violence is going to get you killed one day,”

Tseng bites down on Rufus’s earlobe as he yanks down his waistband. “This is a dangerous business.”

“I will go out in a blaze of glory,” Rufus muses. “You and me,” Rufus wraps his hands around Tseng’s neck and pulls him into his bosom. He yanks the tie from Tseng’s ponytail and lets his brunette locks spring free to fall across his shoulders. Rufus brushes a stray hair from Tseng’s face before whispering,

“We will burn together, won’t we?”

Tseng delves his tongue into Rufus’s mouth passionately, sweetly. 

_Yes, sir._

His touch becomes gentle as he makes his pity— his compassion— evident. Tseng unties Rufus’s robe and lets the white silk fall off of his shoulders around his waist. His skin is just as pale and smooth as the fabric, but tonight it’s marred. Purple and red bruises and belt marks stripe his otherwise perfect flesh. 

“Stop looking at them… please,” Rufus whispers. 

“My apologies.” Tseng gently brushes his lips across one of the welts, and Rufus tries not to wince. “... I’ll be gentle with you, I promise.” Rufus nods and pulls a tube of lube from his overnight bag on the floor next to the bed. 

The majority of Rufus’s bruises are on his back, so Tseng lays him down on his stomach, pressing his lanky body against the crisp white sheets. He places his hands on Rufus’s hips and squeezes the flesh. Rufus spreads his legs wide and arches his back, pushing his plush ass upwards into the air. Tseng cups his ass with both hands, and after an impatient moan from Rufus, he uncaps the lube and slicks his hands up. 

“Relax, Ruf,”

Tseng enters Rufus with one finger, slow and easy. His hips lurch slightly, and his breath hitches with a sweet moan. He finds his rhythm, fingering Rufus’s tight little hole as the blonde rocks his hips. Tseng hooks his finger inside of Rufus, and he arches his back with a breathless moan begging for more. 

Tseng pushes a second slicked-up finger into Rufus’s hole and watches him bury his face in the sheets in ecstasy. Tseng watches his muscles twitch as he tightens around his fingers. Rufus gasps and mewls desperate sounds. Tseng shoves his fingers in to the knuckles, and Rufus whines impatiently. 

“More,” Rufus growls, completely flattening his top half to the bed with his ass up as high as he can arch his back. He wriggles his hips and licks his pink lips. “Give me your dick. Stop fucking around, I want it!”

Tseng smiles and gently applies pressure to Rufus’s balls, making his thighs tremble. For all of the hell Rufus puts Tseng through during the day, the role reversal in the bedroom is almost worth it— if anything, Rufus puts on quite a show. 

“You’re a brat, Rufus.”

“You love it,” he whines, parting his lips to show his soft, pink tongue. “Know you wanted to do this all day, pound me into the mattress for giving you shit.”

Tseng hauls off and slaps his ass, and Rufus squeals into the pillow. He curls his fingers around Rufus’s cock, and the tip is already wet with precome.

“Just want you to have a little patience for once, that’s all.”

“Maybe you just can’t keep up with me,” Rufus purrs and stretches his thighs as wide as he can manage. 

“Be careful what you ask for, Rufus,”

Tseng runs his tongue around the tight ridge of Rufus’s asshole and squeezes the soft flesh on his hips in an attempt to hold down his squirming while he teases him. 

“I’ll give it to you,”

“I know what I want!” Rufus moans like a whore and fights for breath. “I’m done asking!” 

Tseng falls on top of Rufus. Dragging his open mouth along the blonde’s spine with a heavy moan as he pushes his head into Rufus’s hole. He shudders underneath Tseng for the first inch, then relaxes his muscles with a drawn-out groan as Tseng pushes his length all the way in with a few ragged thrusts. 

“Fuck-” Rufus moans in-between hitched breaths. His mouth hangs open in a blissful grin. “It’s been awhile hasn’t it?”

“So fucking tight,” Tseng moans. “You really haven’t fucked anyone have you?”

“Nope, just you. Been saving myself,” Rufus coos, “No toys, no fingers… Wanted you to ruin me.”

Tseng is on the verge of losing it at Rufus’s confession, shoving his cock in to the hilt, Rufus’s hole stretching around him with sweet moans. He collapses on top of him, breath hot, moaning in his ear with his cock pulsating inside of Rufus. 

Rufus’s black nails desperately claw at the sheets for some sort of relief from Tseng’s relentless pounding. He screams out shamelessly— wordless moans— reaching for the bed’s headboard rails and slamming them against the wall as Tseng slams into him at a dreadful pace. 

When Rufus can’t take it anymore, he blows his load all over the sheets, crying out Tseng’s name in heat.

“You didn’t last long," Tseng groans, pushing his dick back inside of Rufus to finish himself off. 

“Pull it out,” Rufus moans, “Put it,” he gasps for air, head dizzy from his orgasm, “Put it in my mouth, Tseng.” Rufus reaches for Tseng’s cock and opens his mouth wide, tongue hanging laguid. Rufus curls his fingers around his shaft, and laps his tongue over Tseng’s tip, blonde lashes fluttering innocently. “I’ll make it up to you, suck you good.”

Tseng arches his hips and caresses the back of Rufus’s head, letting his hard dick graze Rufus’s cheek, smearing precome across his face as he does. Tseng guides his cock into his open mouth, and Rufus lets out a throaty moan into his length. Rufus gags as he deep throats his partner, Tseng’s manicured stubble tingling against his face when he’s all the way in. 

Tseng thrusts into him, Rufus’s lips swollen red and glistening with slobber while he chokes. Tseng runs his fingers through his soft honey-colored locks and pulls Rufus into him by his hair. He whines into Tseng’s dick, his tongue lapping around his shaft with clever fingers massaging his balls. Rufus grazes him with his teeth, and Tseng cums a pint in his mouth. 

He collapses, breathing hard, on top of Rufus— who’s struggling to swallow Tseng’s cum and slobber dripping out of the corner of his mouth. Rufus hugs Tseng tight as he shudders after his orgasm, softly kissing the huadian on his forehead. Tseng grabs him by the jaw, and delves his tongue into Rufus’s mouth, tasting his cum in his partner’s mouth. Rufus kisses him back passionately, exhausted with his eyelids growing heavy.

Rufus snuggles close to Tseng’s chest and pulls the covers up around them. He shivers against Tseng’s muscular frame, clinging to him for warmth, skin to skin. Tseng pets his soft blonde locks, and in turn, Rufus runs a finger through Tseng’s silky dark ones.

After a moment, Rufus whimpers and traces his bony fingers across Tseng’s collarbone. He draws in close, batting his long lashes against Tseng’s cheek, pretty blue eyes sparkling. 

“... You’ll protect me?”

“With my life.”

xxxxx

“Agony,” Rufus contemplates, “Death is not analogous to humiliation. Death is not suffering. Humiliation is suffering.” He’s smoking a strong cigar as he looks over the city from Skyview Hall.

Elena passes Rufus his ashtray. He thanks her and taps his cigar on its rim. 

“You’ll help me, won’t you? Tseng told me he’d fill you in.”

Elena winced. It truly was a question, not an order. He always gave her questions, not orders. 

“I am a Turk. It is my duty, not my choice. To ask is to see me as less than my position, sir.”

“My apologies. I know you are more than capable.” Rufus doesn't show it, but he's embarrassed. There are times he forgets Elena is an assassin because of her pretty face; he’s playing precisely into the trap so many haven’t lived to tell the tale. It gives him chills. 

“You know what you’re doing. Find out if the rumors are true, and retrieve the goods if they are. I’ll see you after my meeting.”

Rufus is second-to-last to enter the conference room; The President is the only one missing. 

His punkish appearance is already an elephant in the room with his shaggy, bleached locks and dark-lined eyes, not to mention the black eye he’s currently sporting. 

It’s a rough look for a billion-dollar heir, and Rufus revels in it. 

“That's a nice shiner,” Heidegger muses. 

“You should see the other man,” Rufus snarks. “He’s not so lucky.” 

His ambiguous answer isn’t a lie, per se. 

“We had an altercation at a nightclub yesterday evening,” Tseng lies in his defense without hesitation. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lazard calling his bluff, and recalls the pistol strapped to his chest. 

Rufus snickers, and without his father in sight, he saunters over to the president’s liquor cabinet. He hums tunelessly and pours a shot of top-shelf whiskey into his coffee. Tseng doesn’t flinch at his antics, he knows all too well what Rufus is doing. If Rufus can distract his father with immature, spoiled antics, that’s less attention on the Turks and Avalanche. 

“You’re worthless just like your mother, always drinking. Sit down, boy.” There’s a collective scoff around the conference table at Rufus as the President makes his entrance, unamused. 

“Bruised too,” Rufus murmurs as he passes his father on the way to his seat. The remark falls on deaf ears. 

Everyone in the room stands at attention— save Rufus, slouching in his seat— until The President takes his seat at the head of table. One the guards passes him his cigar box. 

As he lights the cigar of his choice and takes his first puff from it, The President glaces around the table with a frown. 

“Where is Veld?” President ShinRa demands. 

Tseng rises from his chair and bows his head. “On an assignment, Mr. President. He sends his apologies for his absence, sir.”

“Does he now… Tell me, Tseng, what type of assignment is he on exactly?”

Rufus feels his stomach churn; his father isn’t buying it. He watches Tseng intensely, praying to Shiva he won’t crack under the pressure and let it slip that the chief was with Avalanche as they spoke. 

“Reconnaissance, sir," Tseng didn’t falter as he wove his lies. “In the wake of the recent SOLDIER desertions… there are some messes to clean up.”

“What messes?”

“I believe that’s a question for your pet.” Rufus points a finger at Lazard, who’s sitting across the table from him.

“Shut up, Rufus,” President Shinra snaps. “Hmph… Unfortunately, he’s correct, Director Deusericus.”

“We are looking into it with our greatest efforts,” Lazard assures him. “Sephiroth is on the case, ShinRa’s finest.”

President Shinra isn’t satisfied with his vagueness. “Then why are the Turks involved?”

“Impatience.” Lazard directs his remark squarely at Rufus. 

“The apple doesn’t fall from the tree, then.” The President frowns and shuffles the meeting agenda in front of him. “Though I don’t commend Rufus’s brash disobedience, I myself, am fed up with you continually bungling the SOLDIER program.”

“As am I,” 

Hojo calls from the other end of the conference table. “This is a several million-dollar research project. My creations and research are not your toys. They are not expendable, Director Deusericus… especially not my own son.”

Hojo tries his hardest to feign sympathy, and it makes Tseng’s skin crawl. “Mr. President, If I may be so bold, he is not fit to stand at the head of SOLDIER.”

There’s a collective gasp around the conference room; Rufus included, trying his darndest to act surprised. 

“Then who, Professor? Don’t tell me this is for your own gain!” President ShinRa slams his fist on the table. 

“I assure you it isn’t. I’ve said my peace. Now, may I leave?” Hojo asks, already standing from his seat. 

“Objection!” Lazard chimes in, “After such a bold accusation, the least you can do is explain yourself, Hojo.”

“Denied,” President Shinra taps his cigar on the table. “Professor you may leave, his performance is enough explanation.”

Rufus gulps down the last of his whiskey-infused coffee. He feels the liquid fire run through his veins as Lazard plays right into his hands. 

“Mr. President? No… Father,” Rufus’s tone turns shy and he bats his lashes. “May I make a suggestion?”

“...Do it quickly, boy.”

“I’ve known most of you my whole life,” Rufus starts, turning the conference room into his stgage. “I know I may be a disappointment sometimes, but without a mother to raise me, it’s been difficult… I haven’t been alone though. Many of you, here, raised me as if I was your own.”

“...It does seem like yesterday he was wiping his boogers on the walls, doesn’t it?” Scarlet recollects fondly. 

“I shall try to contain myself, Miss.” Rufus promises in earnest, smiling with his hand over his heart. 

Lazard slams his hands on the table at the collective cooing around the room. 

“Mr. President! What does this have to do with SOLDIER?”

“...Let him speak, Director.” Wisley, President ShinRa reads the sentimental tide turning in the room. 

“Thank you, father.” Rufus folds his hands at his waist, meekly. “Speaking of father, you were so busy, I-” Rufus’s voice cracks. For good measure, Tseng gently brushes his elbow, spurring the fake tears. “I would have truly been an orphan without Heidegger to show me what it meant to be a real man.”

“...Thank you, Rufus.” Heidegger is genuinely moved by Rufus’s confession. 

“No, thank you,” Rufus makes his way over to Heidegger’s seat, and places his hand on the back of it. “Though he was often harsh with me, I know he came from a place of compassion. Father,” Rufus glances at the President with wet eyes, “Is this not the man most fit to lead our military?”

“Oh!” Palmer cries out before President ShinRa can respond. He waves his wet handkerchief in the air in surrender to Rufus’s revelation. “The boy is right! He may be wayward, but we raised him as our own! Surely there is good in him?”

“The prodigal son, indeed,” Scarlet eyes Rufus with a proud smile. 

Rufus bows, “Thank you all for your kindness, I swear it-”

“Sit down, Rufus. That’s quite enough out of you for the day.” 

“Yes, father.”

“...Mr. President, will you consider today’s discussion?” Like a predator to its prey, Heidegger glares at Lazard when he asks. 

“Not today. We will reschedule. Dismissed.”

Lazard is the first to leave the room, and Rufus— with Tseng as his shadow— is the last. His father stops him on the way out. 

“Tomorrow morning you may leave, but you better get back to work, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Rufus’s tone is nothing short of sarcastic as they make their way into the glass elevator car together, followed by the turk and several armed guards. 

As the elevator hums, Tseng gingerly brushes his fingers across Rufus’s waist with his stoic glare fixated on the city below their feet. It’s reassurance, and Rufus knows Elena’s succeeded. 

Xxxxx

“That was an Oscar-worthy performance.”

Lazard has his back turned to Rufus as he bursts through the door. 

“You’re lucky every executive in this building is stupider than you.”

“You sound unbothered. It’s almost like you think you’re going to get away with what you did to me, hm?”

Lazard spins around in his chair and presses the panic switch under his desktop. 

“Heh, heh,” In a matter of seconds, Rufus can’t contain himself, and bursts into a fit of maniacal laughter that nearly makes Tseng blush. “One wire, that’s all it was.” Rufus makes a scissoring motion with his fingers. 

Lazard sighs, and his cool demeanor tells Rufus he still thinks he can talk his way out of this. “My actions were rash… I’m sorry.” The apology is directed at Tseng, who’s worked along-side SOLDIER for years, not Rufus. 

Rufus turns to Tseng with a curious glance, “Tseng, do you think vermin can feel remorse?”

Tseng gazes into Lazard’s icey eyes, knowing he holds the power to turn the tide, and picks his side. 

“No, no they can’t, sir.”

“Agreed,” Rufus claps his hands together in delight, and Tseng bets a million bucks his loyalty’s given the brat a hard-on. 

Lazard rises from behind his desk in rage, “Rufus, what do you want? Were your antics today not enough?”

“For the trouble you caused me and my men,” Rufus points at his black eye, “we’re just beginning.”

“What’s all the commotion in here?” Reno demands, stomping inside. 

“You oaf! I told you to wait outside,” Rufus seethes. 

“You wanna let the whole floor know what you’re up to, blondie? Quiet down.” Tseng casts Reno a warning glance at his disrespect, to which he rolls his eyes. “Let’s go, you’re taking fucking forever.”

Tseng presses his pistol against Lazard’s back and nudges him forwards. 

“You haven’t won yet, and you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing!-”

“For love of Gaia, shut him up,” Rufus tosses Tseng his handkerchief, and he ties it around Lazard’s mouth as a gag. 

“Let’s go, chop chop,” Reno circles his index finger towards the door motioning for them to hurry and pile into the back elevator. 

Rufus goes to push the lowest button on the elevator panel, but Reno punches one slightly higher before he does. 

“Is that the right floor? Thought we were using the lowest level of the garage?”  
  


“Yep, change of plans, sweetheart. Elena hooked us up with something better.”

“Elena was able to negotiate a deal with Professor Hojo,” Tseng elaborates, “As the director is in leagues with Project G, Hojo has no qualms about us eliminating those tampering with his research on Jenova.” 

Tseng watches Lazard sweat at the news, and it fills him with a strange satisfaction. “We’re being allowed to conduct our business in the privacy of one of the R&D testing rooms.”

“And where’s Elena?” Rufus asks, “I’d like to commend her.” 

Lazard groans behind his gag, interrupting their small talk, and Rufus backhands him across the face. 

“Veld sent her on an assignment,” Tseng continues, “She’s with Rude in Junon. I’ll send her your regards for a job well done.”

“Heh, all she had to do was ask nicely, huh? Guess the old nutcase doesn’t like Hollander anymore than we do.” Reno cackles and shoves Lazard against the wall, rocking the elevator and flickering the single overhead light. 

“Lovely,” Rufus grumbles. “What an ally.” Just then, his phone pings, and he flips it open to check his email.

_Hey, do you know anything about this?_ _Lmk._

— _Tuesti_

_\-----_

_October 15, 2006_

_1:12 p.m._

_BEGIN FORWARDED MESSAGE:_

_All,_

_I just saw the director leave with the President’s son. I think Tseng was with him too._

_I’m confused, does anyone know what’s going on? Why is Rufus even here, isn’t he working abroad? This doesn’t sit right with me._

— _Kunsel, SOLDIER 2nd Class_

Xxxxx

Reno and Tseng slam Lazard against the steel wall of the lab room. 

“Strip him from the waist up,” Rufus orders. 

Lazard glares at him unwaveringly as Tseng and Reno manhandle him. “An eye for an eye, huh?”

“That’s right,” Reno hisses. “You ain’t never liked us turks, too well, have ya?”

When Tseng finishes tying Lazard’s wrists behind his back, Reno pulls a knife out of his pocket and trails it across Lazard’s chin. “What’d you call us, thugs?”

“He did.” Tseng whispers. 

“Aw, that’s no good!” Reno slices Lazard’s dress shirt open down the front. The knife swings millimeters away from his skin and sends the buttons clattering to the floor.

Tseng rips the fabric off, leaving him exposed. Reno kicks the back of Lazard’s legs and he collapses to his knees in front of Rufus.

“Boss?”

“Beat him.”

Reno rushes forwards at the opportunity, tapping his mag rod threateningly against his shoulder. He cracks his knuckles before raising it over his head to strike the first blow. 

“Wait,” Rufus raises his hand, his features softening as his gaze follows the length of the steel rod. 

“Now’s not the time to have second thoughts, boss,” Reno snaps. “...What are you, pussy?”

“No,” Rufus bites his tongue over his bottom lip. “I simply believe the pleasure will be all mine.”

“You think you can stomach that, princess?”

Rufus angrily rips the mag rod out of Reno’s hand. Tseng is silent, but stays on his toes. 

“What’ll this accomplish, Rufus?” Lazard makes every-last ditch effort he can to reason with his half- brother. 

“It’s entertaining, isn’t that enough?” He flicks his wrist, sending the telescoping extension of the rod outwards. He presses the button on the handle and ignites the charge. “What did you accomplish by tattling?” 

Rufus grits his teeth and bashes the steel against Lazard’s skull with a crack. Blood splatters on the front of his suit— white turning crimson— and there’s a lot of it. However, Tseng and Reno know Rufus isn’t strong enough to kill him with brute force alone. They’ll let him indulge for a bit. 

“Rufus, we’re on the same team,” Lazard breathes heavy. He squints at Rufus, blood trickling down into his eyes from the gash on his forehead. “Can’t you see that? We’re fighting against the same man!”

Enraged, Rufus retorts, “I don’t play for the losing team, much less with the sons of whores,” he presses the sole of his boot against Lazard’s face, driving his head against the concrete floor. Rufus raises the rod over his shoulder, like he’s teeing up his golf swing for an afternoon at the country club. 

“You’re wrong!” Lazard is cut short by a hard blow of the electrified rod straight to his stomach.

“Your team is— oh, excuse me— _was_ SOLDIER, and mine is the Turks.” Rufus twirls the bloody mag rod in between his fingers with the gusto of a ringmaster at a circus. “And I don’t need your ‘help’ fighting my old man!” 

“Please!” Lazard screams in the soundproof room. 

Rufus hits him in the face again with the rod, breaking his nose. “Don’t you _ever_ act like you know my old man! You didn’t grow up with him… all those years, ha,”

Rufus starts to laugh, and he laughs so hard he doubles over. He falls to his knees and drops the mag rod on the ground, wheezing.

“ _Twenty fucking years...”_

Rufus starts crying and the tears don’t stop. He punches Lazard with his fist. 

“Twenty years of it, the beatings, the screaming, all of it!”

Rufus slams his fist into Lazard’s cheek over and over. 

“ _And you took what was rightfully mine after all of that suffering!_ ”

“Rufus that’s enough!”

Tseng grabs Rufus— who’s sobbing hysterically— under his arms and hauls him off of Lazard. 

“He’ll live.” Rufus laughs through his tears. “... Reno, the box.” 

He snaps his fingers. Reno brings him the sealed canister, stamped with the science department’s logo and a large letter A.

“I'm done here.” Rufus nonchalantly announces. “Clean this up,” Rufus demands as he peels off his overcoat, “and burn this suit.”

“Yes, sir,” Tseng and Reno both respond in unison. 

Rufus removes the syringe and fluid vial from its canister and slips a pair of latex gloves over his bloodied knuckles. He fills the syringe full of the bioluminescent liquid and taps the excess on the side of the vial, careful not to let it touch his skin— even through the gloves. 

Lazard gazes into Rufus’s eyes through the cracked lenses of his frames.

“I pity you.”

Rufus smiles. He grabs Lazard by a fistful of hair at his scalp and tilts his head to the side to expose his neck. 

“ _Die, slum bastard._ ”

xxxxx

_This is an official notification of the change in status for the following personnel:_

_Lazard Deusericus. Killed in Action._

_To be replaced with Director Heidegger, acting head of public safety._

“...So ineloquent. Fitting, but typical of the research department. Don’t you think so?”

“We don’t do things much different in auditing, sir.”

“I know, but they could’ve at least listed me as successor,” Rufus scowls as he flips through his emails over his morning coffee with his boots up on his desk. He flips his cell shut in frustration. “At least we got Heidegger, fucking imbecile.”

“...Now that you’ve got it, you don’t want it, do you?”

“No,” Rufus grins wickedly as he runs his fingers across the desk. “It’s so much smaller than I remembered it... Oh well, it’ll do for now,” Rufus sighs as he stands up and pours himself a glass of whiskey from the decanter— swiped from his father’s liquor cabinet— on the corner of his desk. “Celebrate with me, dearest. It’s Woodford.”

“Of course,” Tseng smiles and turns the dial on the radio from the morning news to something sultry, a jazz station. He slips a hand around Rufus’s waist, intertwining their fingers with his other hand. 

Rufus moans and presses his forehead against Tseng’s, swaying gently with the music. “You and me,” Rufus presses his palm against Tseng’s broad chest. “...We’re going to own this building, or burn it to the ground trying.”

“Whatever you want, sir,” Tseng chuckles and kisses Rufus’s lips softly. He tastes like the whiskey in his veins, bitter with hints of oak. Tseng pushes him backwards, hauling his ass up onto the top of the desk. He spreads Rufus’s legs and presses his hips against him. 

Rufus thrusts forward, then pauses, as his hand reaches backwards to steady himself. He removes one of his gloves and rubs the pads of his fingers together, before pouting his lip. 

“This is pine... The President’s desk is made of mahogany, you know.”

A lustful smile creeps across Tseng’s face. “Just say the word, Mr. Vice President.”

_Vice._

The word stabs into Rufus like a thousand knives because second place is never good enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> Amidst all of these flashing lights,  
> I pray the fame won’t take my life.


End file.
